


Radio Silence

by JennaCupcakes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Mars, Porn With Plot, as a treat, me @ fitzjames: why don’t you read some richard siken and maybe you’ll calm down, my PWP can have a little plot, yes i googled 'can you have sex on Mars' for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaCupcakes/pseuds/JennaCupcakes
Summary: In April 2044, the European Space Agency provisioned the long-haul shipErebusfor the nine-month journey to Mars. The ship was staffed with 133 astronauts, tasked with setting up the colony and getting food production underway. Last contact with theErebustook place in December 2044. Nobody knows what happened to the ship after that.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 39
Kudos: 86
Collections: All Well: The Terror April 2020 Fest





	Radio Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Me: “I’ll write something short for the ‘All Well’ flash fiction fest!”  
> Me, 9k later: “…Fuck.”
> 
> Anyway, this was a delight to write because it combines two of my favourite things, _The Martian_ and _The Terror_. Also, if you’re curious, you _can_ have sex on Mars but apparently blood pressure is lower and so it’s harder to have sex (I am a scientist, but not that kind of a scientist, so don’t ask me). Because I am also a fiction writer, I’ve elected to ignore this. Brace for unrealistic Mars sex.
> 
> The song at the end is _Marching Inland_ by Mcginty, because you can never go wrong with a shanty.

> _“I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling.  
>  The enormity of my desire disgusts me.”_

― Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

* * *

The strangest thing, to James, wasn’t the alien landscape outside of _Erebus_. The strangest thing was how the sounds had changed.

During their journey, he’d gotten used to the droning of the engines, the humming of the lights, the whisper of the ventilation system and the steady buzz of a full crew of men and women on and off shift around him. It put him to sleep at night and woke him in the morning, it accompanied and interrupted his work.

Now, when he woke, it was to silence, and sometimes to the grating howl of sand that still chased him out of bed months after the crash. He would never get used to that sound. The hallways were the same, but they felt wrong, because they were empty, and the sounds had changed. Like a genre cover of a well-loved song. The red wastes beyond the windows that had replaced the darkness of space came in as a distant second after that.

James was watching Captain Francis Crozier suit up as though he wasn’t bothered by all this.

“Let me come with you,” James said, not for the first time. They stood together in the narrow antechamber to the airlock, the floor covered with a fine dusting of red Martian soil. Francis, who had just pulled the cap of his suit over his head and receding hairline, fixed his sharp eyes on him.

“James…” he said, and James would have made the entire cursed journey again, fully knowing how it would turn out, just to hear Francis say his name like that. “It’s not wise.”

James allowed himself two more steps in Francis’s direction. It wasn’t enough – there was still distance between them that couldn’t be bridged in steps, not the kind James could take towards Francis, anyway. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I want to see it,” he admitted, avoiding Francis’s eyes. It was foolish. They’d come all this way out here, seen things no one had seen before them, lost astronauts and would lose others – and yet James couldn’t help but want more, as though _Commander Fitzjames of the Erebus and First Mars Colony_ wasn’t enough of a moniker already. Well, it wasn’t like there’d be much of a colony now.

James watched Francis stepped into the EVA suit. Every layer removed him one step further from James’s company, because every layer brought him closer to the moment where he would be ready to step out of the airlock. “We talked about this. Losing both commanding officers is something we can’t risk.”

“After everything we’ve faced,” James said, recounting horrors beyond description in a subclause, as they’d grown accustomed to. “This one is least likely to kill us. It’ll be a change of pace.”

Francis scoffed. “You don’t take this seriously enough.”

James took another step, allotting himself a budget and immediately overdrawing it. He grinned, in what he hoped was a close approximation of his former smile. “I promise you; I do.”

This close to Francis, he could drop his voice, drop the grin, and whisper his confession. “I’m worried for you.”

Francis blinked. Perhaps he was surprised. James would like to find a way to finally surprise Francis Crozier, who had not seemed surprised at any of the misfortunes that had befallen them on their journey, facing every single one with nothing more than the weary acceptance of someone who had known the glass was half empty but still had to check. The only time James had thought he saw him crack a little had been at the death of Franklin, and that was months behind them.

“I will come back, James,” Francis said, and it was James’s turn to be shocked when Francis clasped his arm and squeezed it firmly, once. It made the breath come out of him in a rush.

“I’d like to make sure of that myself, if you don’t mind.”

In his head, the words had sounded teasing, suave. As he said them, they came out breathless. _Needy_. He stepped back, severing the hold Francis had on his arm. James rubbed the spot as if he’d been burned, but it did nothing for the tingling sensation James felt. Francis frowned.

“Edward can take care of the men. He is more than capable,” James said, and cleared his throat. Francis’s eyes flitted over James once more. The frown stayed on his face like it had been frozen in there.

James kept his back straight.

“I know you won’t let me through that blasted airlock unless I let you come with,” Francis relented, “But you have to tell Edward. He’s not going to like this.”

* * *

James never should have gone into space travel. Forget the dangers of the vacuum, the radiation, ship fires and asteroids and the myriad of other ways in which space wanted to kill them – he was too tall. Every seat on every vehicle, every berth and every doorway had been built for men who were a good ten centimetres shorter than James, and he was reminded of this most poignantly every time he stepped into one of the rovers, the most confined space available to them. Francis, with his stockier build, seated behind the wheel next to James, seemed comfortable enough.

The sounds in the rover were different again from the wrecked ship – there was still the steady hum of an engine, but it was closer to them, louder. The sound of gravel under their wheels drowned out the whisper of the ventilation, and the occasional _thunk_ of a rock hitting the window or the side of the chassis made them startle. There was also, if James listened with enough determination, the sound of Francis’s breathing.

“Do you think they’ve sent help already?”

The landscape before them was alien in a sense of the word that James had never understood before. No one else had gone this way before them, and the way the ground rose and fell, with jagged rocks and deep gorges that made driving slow going and illustrated the point. _Keep out_ , the planet seemed to say.

The space between them felt different out here. _Erebus_ had been constructed with daily interactions in mind, to build the team as much as keep the astronauts from the negative health effects of withdrawing into isolation, and even though most of the hundred-and-thirty-three astronauts that had set out on this journey were dead now, there was always someone around who wanted something from the Captain or the Commander. But in the rover, already half a Sol away from base, they were undisturbed.

“ESA?” Francis’s eyes were fixed ahead, and his hands rested on the controls leisurely, as though he were simply driving down a country road in England. James knew it belied a capacity for intense focus and quick thinking. Had Francis not navigated the asteroids like he did, there would no longer even be an _Erebus_ to speak of. That some of them had escaped with their lives was owed to his calm, precise mind in the face of danger.

James made an affirmative noise. “They might have guessed something is wrong.”

“They might have.”

James wanted to eat his words and his own desperate need for reassurance. He wasn’t supposed to need this kind of comfort. Every crew member was entitled to their private doubts, and when they despaired at the enormity of the task ahead of them, it was understood that there was someone they could turn to. As Commander, James was supposed to give this comfort, not be at the receiving end of it. Yet here he was, still looking for someone who would tell him everything would be alright. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Francis.”

James often felt he had a multitude of confessions to make to Francis. Every day on this mission made him more aware of his shortcomings, and every day he wanted to beg for forgiveness for not seeing things clearly soon enough. Francis appeared unfazed as he drove on, casting nothing more than a sideways glance at James, one eyebrow raised as though puzzled by James’s strange behaviour. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

* * *

They were still fifty kilometres out from their destination, over rocky terrain, as the sun sunk low over the horizon. Francis picked out a spot by a cliffside which promised shelter from Mars’s incessant winds, and they parked the rover in its shadow and got comfortable. With the engine powered down to only life support, it got very quiet.

Francis slept easily. James suspected the man could sleep near anywhere, provided he had somewhere to rest his head. James used to think it was because he spoke all his worries out loud, taking away their ability to haunt him nightly, but Francis had long abandoned his role as prophet of their doom. They had to weigh on him still – the responsibility of command, the weight of their collective fate, and maybe even concern for his own life, though he seemed ready enough to give it up for others. Still, he slept, while James found himself plagued by nightly restlessness, wandering the corridors of _Erebus_ until his legs hurt even in the lower gravity of Mars.

The rover robbed him of the possibility to wander. James didn’t even dare to shift too much for fear of waking Francis. In the small space, they had to lie so close that their limbs almost touched, and that was both a comfort and torture to James. At least Francis looked untroubled when he slept – his face didn’t have that pinched expression to it, though James had to admit he had even grown fond of that. Francis’s hair was ruffled from the cap of the EVA suit, and it was nearly the only thing that was visible of him, as he had rolled himself wholly into the blanket and drawn it up to his chin, looking relaxed and warm.

If he extended a finger, James would be able to touch him – to feel the ghost of Francis’s warmth even through the blanket, to feel his body rise and fall with slow breaths – and could perhaps steal some of that peace for himself. Carefully, letting the fear of getting caught be his guide for how slowly to proceed, James’s hand crept across the space that separated them. He stopped when his finger caught the coarse material of the blanket.

He closed his eyes. The point of contact was small, and it was everything. For the first time in weeks, he felt grounded.

He slept, restlessly and dreamlessly.

* * *

The second day’s drive took them the rest of the way to the tower.

James could see it from miles away. The thing stood five hundred metres tall, the base almost the same width across, winding structures that reminded James of a playground jungle gym back home. For a moment, the resemblance was jarring. The white of the ceramic structure stood out starkly against the sandy red backdrop, though James imagined it must have looked shinier in the ESA lab where it was designed. Still, the sight was welcome.

They suited up quietly, no longer finding a need for many words after month of working side by side. Francis went to the control panel while James worked on the rover end, getting its computer interface ready to hook up to the communications tower. Over the crackling static of the connection, he heard Francis swear.

“What is it?” James asked, immediately alert.

“Won’t boot up,” Francis muttered. James’s shoulders sagged. “Can you fix it?”

The sound of a metallic _clang_ and the feed of Francis’s suit cam told James Francis had kicked one of the metal struts.

“Probably.”

James knew Francis’s credentials. If he couldn’t fix it, there was no one on their mission who could.

“Wish that Ross were here,” Francis muttered as he bent down to grab something from his toolbox. James’s lip twitched in a grimace.

The rover was readied quickly. James had trained on rovers in the Tabernas desert first, then again in Nevada when he’d worked as part of the exchange with NASA for two years. He knew them inside out. When he was done, he went to join Francis, who had disassembled the communication tower’s interface, and – from what his suit cam was telling James – stared at the parts before him with unblinking concentration.

“Can I help?”

Francis turned, and in the corner of his vision, James saw himself come into view, a tall and misshapen caricature of a man, more alien than human with his long limbs and comically round helmet.

Francis showed him a part. “See if you can find a spare in the rover for me.”

When James returned with it, Francis mumbled a thanks but remained otherwise engrossed in his work, so James settled down, his back against a strut of the communications tower, and watched Francis work.

“Enjoying your break?” Francis asked mockingly when he noticed James’s position.

“There’s nothing like slacking off while someone next to you is doing all the hard work.”

When he tried, James could still instil his voice with the old grin and levity. It wouldn’t do for Francis to worry overmuch.

“Will this be your next story, then?” Francis hummed his amusement as he screwed the back panel of the interface back together. “The time you took a nap on the surface of Mars, nothing between you and the minus sixty degrees Celsius except for your EVA suit…”

“It’s barely minus seventeen today. Almost pleasant.”

James had checked the status readouts in the rover before heading back out.

Francis snorted. “A summer day, then.”

“All we need is cocktails, and maybe some lounge music.”

“Perhaps you should direct the next Friday social on _Erebus_ ,” Francis suggested lightly. Then, realising what he’d said at about the same time as James, he flinched.

James grinned wryly, although Francis couldn’t see his face through the sun visor.

“Better not.”

Francis was silent for a moment. James watched Francis’s suit cam with one eye, and the stiff figure of him with the other.

“You cannot keep blaming yourself for that, James,” Francis said finally. His voice had softened, a tone that James had been virtually unacquainted with for the first nine months of their journey, and that he now witnessed almost daily. It was its own kind of torture.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll hang on to that particular regret. Maybe it’ll help keep me in check next time my bright ideas eclipse my good sense.”

James sounded bitter even to his own ears, and Francis didn’t respond. James let the silence fill the hollow, dark, festering place inside him that was his own personal scar from the fire, which he had escaped otherwise unscathed. He cultivated it like a garden, came back to it like a touchstone. While Francis, as Captain, was responsible for the lives lost in the abstract sense, James was acutely aware of his own guilt in killing the astronauts that had died in the fire, or after that when the corridor was vented. He saw them in his dreams sometimes and that was bad, but it was worse when they came to him while he was awake, their burnt and frost-covered bodies, mouths open in a desperate gasp for air that never reached their lungs. Their lives weighed on his conscience. It wasn’t something he’d ever be able to forget.

After another hour or so, Francis stood up again. “If this doesn’t work–”

He didn’t elaborate on the thought. There was precious little hope for them if this didn’t work. Francis simply flipped the switch at the side of the panel. The screen lit up blue. “Aha!”

James jumped to his feet – a movement he felt in his joints, despite the low gravity. “Is it working?”

* * *

The wind around them picked up as they settled in for the night. Francis’s face was sweaty when he took off his helmet, and his hair under the cap was greasy, sticking to his forehead. James was sure he himself didn’t look much better.

They had worked until it got too dark to see, and then James had continued in the rover, running through lines of code until they blurred before his eyes, while Francis prepared dinner. They ate their food sitting cross-legged in the back of the rover, facing each other, speaking little. They had done their best to get the message out. It felt strange to know that the only thing they could do now was survive.

Francis checked the rover’s status readouts before they went to bed.

“Minus fifty now,” he said, “And it looks like the bloody Sahara out there.”

“It gets cold in the desert,” James remarked, something he had read in a children’s science book, aged ten. The look Francis shot him over his shoulder told James that this particular input was not valued.

“It’s more like the Arctic out there,” he remarked.

“What’s the coldest it gets on Earth?” James mused, as much to humour Francis as of genuine curiosity.

“Minus a hundred or so is the lowest it can go,” Francis responded, to James’s surprise.

“You’re a true font of knowledge, Francis Crozier.”

“I read an article about it once.” The funny thing about Francis was that he did not take praise well, even when given in jest. He blushed almost immediately, which James found incredibly endearing. “It was measured in Antarctica, I think, on one of the highest parts of the ice sheet.”

A place almost as alien as the one they found themselves in now.

“Mars has a low of minus one hundred and fifty,” James said. He wondered what it meant that he knew more about Mars than Earth when it came to this. He’d spent so much time preparing for this mission, and still it hadn’t been enough. At every turn, this place had shown James that whatever he had studied, it could never be enough. It left him thinking they should never have come.

“Not so different from home, then,” Francis said quietly as he left the status readouts and came back to James. He settled on his cot, propped up on one arm. “Except we can’t breathe the air and the radiation will kill us.”

James followed Francis’s example and got as comfortable as he could on his cot. His hip ached more tonight, and he had to shift until he found a comfortable position.

He did not ask Francis again if it was likely that somebody had received their message. He had already spent enough time burdening the man with his guilt and his anxieties. If they wanted to survive long enough for help to find them, James would have to stand on his own aching legs, for however long they would carry him.

He closed his eyes. Already, the soundscape of the rover’s life support and Francis’s breathing, contraposed by the wind, was familiar to him.

* * *

“Are you cold, James?”

The voice roused him from something that might have resembled sleep to the uninitiated. James was disoriented, but a steady hand on his arm brought him back to reality. The rover. The Martian winds. And Francis’s craggy face, deepened by the strange lights around them, looking on him with concern.

“What?”

“You’re shaking.”

They had spent over a year in climate-controlled rooms or EVA suits that closely monitored their body temperature. It should be impossible for any of them to feel cold. But Francis was right, James was shaking – a deep-seated tremor that ran through his limbs and made him clench his jaw.

“It’s nothing,” James said, “I’m just tired.”

“James…” There it was again, the terrible gentleness of Francis’s voice. If only James had never heard that sound. “I really thought we were past all this… posturing.”

His face was entreating James to be honest. James could only meet Francis’s eyes for a second. Even though there was barely any light, they were shockingly clear, and too dear to James.

“Come here,” Francis said quietly. He lifted his blanket, an invitation that seemed more like a temptation to James. No matter how many steps he took towards Francis, he could never bridge the distance between them. But now the distance between them had shrunken down to nothing more than a metre in the small cabin of the rover, and James found it very easy to crawl across that space and fit himself against Francis’s body.

Francis manoeuvred an arm under his head, draped the other one across James’s body and pulled him close. With the two blankets covering them and the warmth of Francis against him, James felt the tremor increase inexplicably, then slowly bleed away. He let out a sigh.

“Better?”

“I shouldn’t bother you with this,” James said, hiding his face against Francis’s neck and smelling sweat and soap. He’d dreamed about this moment, but in his dreams, it hadn’t been like this – James’s body hadn’t been betraying him, for a start, and he hadn’t been two seconds from crying while Francis held him firmly, like he might drift away otherwise.

“James,” Francis chastised, “You’re not a bother to me.”

James could barely restrain himself from burying his face in Francis’s neck, so close was the comfort he craved. He already had more than he’d ever dared to hope for.

“We all know you’re the capable leader. All the men rely on you, I don’t want to–” James had to swallow. “–I don’t want to be a burden.”

The hand on James’s side vanished, only to reappear cradling his cheek. Francis tilted James’s head up so he could look him in the eye. “I never would have made it this far without you by my side.”

James felt his throat close up. The candour on Francis’s face overwhelmed him. He choked out a tearful laugh. “Look at us both.” 

“Look at us both,” Francis repeated. He did not laugh. There was a question in his eyes, in the way he was watching James. James stilled, holding his breath. Francis swallowed.

“Francis, I–”

“James.” Francis leaned in closer. James could see every line on the face that made Francis. “Stop me if I’m wrong.”

He kissed James.

James made a small, strangled noise, all the emotions he’d kept under lock and key screaming out in unison, and Francis drew back immediately. James had no intention of letting him go far.

Francis’s lips were chapped. At the contact, James felt a different kind of tremor run through his body – like an electric shock, it made his heart seize up painfully. Francis sank a hand into his hair, and James could have sworn he forgot his name for a second when Francis gave the lightest of tugs.

James groaned, then swallowed the sound before it could betray too much. Francis would give him this, but he didn’t know that James was a deep well of unfulfilled needs. Maybe Francis would lay here all night and kiss him, but deep James’s his gut simmered the hunger that wanted to be shown he was enough – smart enough, good enough to be loved and to be wanted. James felt ashamed to subject Francis to his brokenness, but he couldn’t stop, not of his own volition.

And Francis kept giving.

His tongue darted out, warm against James’s lips and James flinched again. He wanted too much. Still, he parted his lips – he would take right up until the moment Francis grew tired of giving – and was rewarded with Francis’s tongue in his mouth. Francis groaned when James sucked on it lightly, and James, shocked by the reaction, stopped. Surely Francis couldn’t want him with the same frenzied desperation James felt, the same need to be wanted and held and cradled safely?

Francis rolled them over so that he was on top of him. The flimsy mattress did little make James forget the fact that he was currently laying on the hard metal floor of the rover, but the weight of Francis’s body was so divine that James was willing forget all about the pain in his lower back. He had never felt so blissfully aware of every part of his body, as though something so simple as his physical presence had been elevated by Francis. It terrified him.

He reached out with shaking hands, let them skim lightly over Francis’s sides, only the threadbare shirt separating James from his skin. They were so often caught in too many layers, necessary to keep them alive, that it seemed dangerously foolish to leave themselves so exposed now.

Francis rolled his hips, his half-hard cock sliding against James’s, and they weren’t wearing nearly enough layers to conceal anything from each other. James thrust up his hips in response, then froze in embarrassment. If only he could stop needing things, Francis wouldn’t have to comfort him so often.

Above him, Francis stilled.

“James,” he said. The way he said James’s name was so familiar now that James would ban anyone else from ever calling him again except Francis. “Tell me if you really want this, James. I don’t want–” Francis pulled himself up on his elbows, giving James space to breathe he didn’t want. Francis closed his eyes in frustration, swore once, “I don’t want to force myself on you.”

“Force–” James could barely think through the fog in his head, surely that could be the only explanation for this turn. He wanted Francis with a desperation that bordered on obscene, and Francis was the one who thought he was forcing something? “I’m the one who – Francis, you don’t have to take pity on me.”

“Pity?”

They couldn’t make themselves clear to one another. This was absurd. James could feel Francis hard against his hip, his own cock was throbbing in his pants and there was no way James could pretend he didn’t want this with all the desperation he had already shown. Francis had glimpsed at the embarrassing need, the void that was at the heart of James Fitzjames. If he realised just how far it went, it would scare him away for sure.

“Yes, pity,” James snapped irritably. “I know you want to comfort me, but I won’t be pitied.”

Francis pursed his lips, and James turned his face away. If he could have seen an escape, he would have taken it, but there was nowhere to go for him in the rover. For a moment, the wastes of Mars seemed preferable to facing Francis’s rejection. James startled when a gentle hand on the side of his face forced him to confront it, anyway.

“James?”

James nodded; his lips pressed together tightly.

“I am not doing this because I pity you.”

Francis shifted again, his body dragging against James’s in a way that made James wish he could stay here forever. Francis’s body was warm and heavy on top of his, almost enough to quell the need inside James. He thought Francis was going to kiss him, but he leaned in further, until his breath ghosted over James’s ear. “Can you believe that I’m doing this because I want you?”

James shook again.

“You do?”

Francis buried his face fully in the side of James’s neck, and the words he growled out tickled James. “Don’t make me say it again, you abominable man.”

Something loosened in James’s chest. He brought a hand up to cradle the back of Francis’s head and felt the soft wisps of hair under his fingers. Maybe – just maybe – there was a man here who would not look at him with disgust when he realised how deep James’s need ran.

“Francis,” James whispered, the sound of all the longing he’d kept inside himself, “please, touch me.”

Francis obliged, in that uncomplicated way of his. Part of James was still screaming at him to stop _needing_ things, to stop demanding others fix everything he couldn’t fix about himself, but it was hard to concentrate on that voice when Francis pressed his lips to the spot under James’s ear that had James’s cock from _interested_ to _hard_ in the span of seconds. His breath escaped from him in a desperate noise, which Francis took as invitation to do it again, just for the pleasure of feeling James shake under him.

One of Francis’s hands snuck under James’s shirt, roaming over his side and then his chest. James closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the feeling of Francis that surrounded him. When Francis pressed their foreheads together, James opened them again, and the need in Francis’s eyes looked like a mirror. His want shifted suddenly, like the tilt in and out of spin gravity on _Erebus_.

“Please, Francis, let me–”

He had to touch Francis, to feel him everywhere, a necessity so acute that he could scarcely put it into words. It seemed he didn’t have to.

Francis let James roll them over so that James was on top of him and could finally ruck up Francis’s shirt to touch his chest, his stomach, to kiss it with a hungry, open mouth and listen for the way Francis’s breath hitched when he did. James drank the sounds up and craved more. He slid further down along Francis’s body, following the trail of hair on Francis’s stomach until he reached the waistband of Francis’s trousers. There, he cast one more look up at Francis. A last chance for him to stop this.

Francis only nodded; his voice broken with need. “ _Please_.”

The sound of his pleading nearly undid James. He pulled down Francis’s pants and underwear in one swift movement, noticed his hands were shaking and damned them to hell. He wasted no time appreciating the sight before him, and instead dove down on Francis’s cock with a speed that would have humiliated him had he not seen the look in Francis’s eyes. Above him, Francis gasped out a strangled _ah_ as his cock was engulfed by James’s eager mouth, his hips bucking before James slammed a hand across his middle. Francis’s hands scrambled at the thin mattress, and James reached up and linked his left hand with Francis’s right. Francis held it in a vice-like grip that only tightened when James pulled back briefly, then swallowed Francis down again eagerly. Francis swore.

James felt lightheaded. Francis was shaking underneath him, nearly undone by nothing more than the sloppy ministrations of James’s mouth; James who was too eager for his own good. James palmed himself once, twice, as he took Francis’s cock so deep he nearly choked on it, but his vision swam, and he felt himself coming dangerously close to the edge. This was about Francis, and he’d be damned if he wasted this chance just because he couldn’t stop _needing_ things.

“James,” Francis whined. His hand snuck into James hair; an insistent tug upwards. “James, I need you, please–”

James was helpless to anything Francis would ask of him. He let himself be dragged up and rolled on his side next to Francis, where Francis kissed him messily, his pupils blown wide and his face red. One fumbling hand shoved James’s pants down and freed his cock and James hissed as Francis’s hand closed warm and tight around him. This was going to be the undoing of him, and shamefully quickly too.

“Want to feel you,” Francis muttered against his mouth, to which James could only reply, “ _Yes,_ ” again and again increasing desperation, giving himself over to Francis.

Francis brought their cocks together, Francis’s erection hot and slick against James’s. He bit his lip as Francis’s hand wrapped around them both, and they both cursed as James thrust his hips forward. James felt his world narrow down to Francis’s hand on his cock, and the eyes Francis kept fixed on him, near unblinking.

James hooked one leg around Francis, bringing them closer together. He wanted to crawl inside Francis and stay there. He wanted Francis to fuck him open the next time they had a moment to themselves on _Erebus_ , to lay James down on the narrow cot in the Captain’s cabin and put his cock inside of him until James forgot his own fucking name and rank and every bloody detail of this godforsaken mission. The image of Francis, in all his glory, red-faced and sweating from the exertion of fucking James made James whine high in his throat. He surged forward to kiss Francis, hard and clumsy. Francis nipped at his lip and James shivered.

“I want you to fuck me,” James whispered, voice nearly choked off when Francis moved his hand again, “Back on the ship, I want you to put your cock inside of me. I need it, Francis, please–”

“ _Fuck_ , James–”

James could feel the tremor run through Francis violently as he pictured it. His hand was moving faster now, James thrusting desperately into the tight circle of his fist.

“I want that – want you – _fuck!_ ”

Francis was losing coherence but increasing in desperation. He seemed angry even in pleasure, eyes screwed shut tightly, his face red and betraying his arousal. James knew exactly how he felt. With his leg hooked around Francis he could feel their bodies moving together, just like he’d pictured it and yet still beyond his wildest dreams. Francis was warm and physical and real next to him, and he had not shied away from the terrible need inside James.

James had to kiss him again.

There would be other times. James knew what the ache in his bones meant, and that he would have to face it in the coming months before rescue could conceivably reach them. Even in the best of scenarios, things would be tight for him. But the whole terrible expanse of his future shrank away before the intensity of this moment, of kissing Francis with his eyes wide open and the understanding between them that they both needed this.

James’s craving was no longer insatiable, instead it moved steadily towards an end which he desired, but towards which he would not rush. He let himself be pulled closer against Francis until there was barely a part of them that wasn’t touching, and found that was enough. With the heat building low in his stomach, James quietly whispered to Francis, breathless and barely audible over the sound of Francis’s low moans – _“I love you, I think I love you, I’m sorry, I love you”_ – and Francis comforted him with a hand in his hair and his lips on the corner of James’s mouth and the whispered answer, _“It’s alright, it’s alright, I love you, James, I love you,”_ the confessions forced out of them now because there might not be a time for them later. And then James didn’t say anything for a while because his stomach tightened and the need coiled low and he felt his release rip through him with the inevitability of a wave, thrusting once, twice, before shuddering limply in Francis’s arms while he spent over the shirts they hadn’t bothered to take off.

One shaking hand moved between them, pried Francis’s hand from their cocks and moved quickly over Francis’s cock, slick from spit and sweat and James’s release. Francis closed his eyes tighter, bit his bottom lip and held on to James’s arm with a bruising grip. He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, but no words came out, just laboured breaths, and James had to watch him, couldn’t blink for fear of missing even one moment. When Francis came, he whined helplessly, mouth open and head tilted back, a sound so delicious James had to kiss it from his lips as Francis shook in his arms.

* * *

Their tracks under the cliff face where they’d made camp had already been wiped away by the time they drove past it the next day. James – behind the wheel of the rover now – spared a brief glance towards the spot and wondered if it was a sign of their future, where all traces of their time here would be erased by the ever-shifting sands of Mars, whether historians would wonder what became of them and if anybody would ever find them out here. He was glad when the cliff face moved out of view.

Francis next to him didn’t say a word, but his hand ghosted over the back of James’s as they drove on. James chose to interpret it as a sign of comfort.

* * *

Lieutenant Little was in the airlock when they returned, the relief on his face poorly concealed by a mask of decorum.

“Captain! Commander! It’s so good to have you back.”

He looked like he hadn’t slept since Francis and James had left – the circles under his eyes were pronounced, and James was relatively sure he recognised the coffee stain on Little’s shirt from three days ago. It was true that water was scarce, but Little also had a tendency to run himself ragged over his duty.

“How is the crew, Edward?” Francis asked, clasping one hand to Little’s shoulder. James was not sure that Edward wasn’t about to cry from relief. He wouldn’t have faulted the man.

“No incidents while you were gone. Goodsir tells me he’s managed to salvage another water reclaimer from Deck 3 and could put the additional water towards air scrubber plants.”

They moved out of the airlock and into the hallway, adjusting for the tilt of _Erebus_ instinctively as they walked. It seemed funny to James that their day-to-day survival should still be so large of a task when he could see their larger fate looming on the horizon, the day when the stores of the ship would no longer feed the men still alive on it. Then again, they all had to stay sane and keep moving somehow.

“How did your errand go, Captain?” Little asked as they rounded the corner towards the officers’ quarters. The tilt was more pronounced here, because of the way the ship had been built. James caught sight of Jopson, and the look of gladness on his face at seeing them returned – at seeing _Francis_ returned –lifted James’s spirits. There was love between all of them, the kind of love that they would need to muster the courage to survive.

“We sent our call for help. The rest is in somebody else’s hands,” Francis said to Little. James could imagine Francis wanted nothing more than a shower and some sleep in an actual bed. Still he briefed Little patiently, and James once more marvelled at his diligence.

“How will we know if someone received our message?” Little seemed to find optimism almost as daunting of a task as Francis once had, which was perhaps why they worked so well together.

“We’ll have to wait,” Francis said, with confidence that James could only hope to emulate one day, “and do our best in the meantime.”

* * *

There was another moment, before James stumbled back to his quarters and collapsed on his mattress. There was the moment after Little left, and Jopson had reassured himself that Francis was indeed still in one piece, and after Thomas Blanky – who hadn’t taken long to hear from someone about their return – had quizzed Francis on the state of the tower. When that moment came, James stood, with one foot on what had once been a wall, suddenly self-conscious of the fact he was still here.

Wanting too much again. He was good at that.

Out of the view of his officers, Francis allowed some of his exhaustion show. James wanted to take it from him, but he didn’t know how. They looked at each other.

“I’m going to shower,” Francis said, and then made no move to go.

“I think I have to sleep first,” James said. His movements had grown stiffer over the last hour. If Francis had noticed, he hadn’t said anything. James owed him honesty in this, and yet couldn’t bring it up. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing the last vestiges of his usefulness and becoming just one more burden on their already strained crew. A burden on Francis.

“Alright.” James noticed the hand at Francis’s side as he spoke, clenching and unclenching in a subconscious movement. “James–”

And there it was – James wanted to give in to his flight instinct before they could have this conversation because James had wanted too much and Francis had come to realise that, and now he would have to stand here with his aching joints through a painful conversation and then drag himself back to his lonely quarters.

“If you would have me later, I would enjoy your company.”

Francis forced out the words like they pained him, and perhaps they did – from what James knew of Francis, he was not skilled at proposals. Luckily, James didn’t care for skill. He smiled, not hiding anything from Francis for a small moment – none of the relief and the joy he felt at knowing Francis still wanted him.

“I would like that very much.”

A small smile stole onto Francis’s face as well. The memory of it stayed with James as swayed back to his quarters.

* * *

There were other moments after that.

There was the moment when Francis took James to his quarters and laid James out on his berth, just as James had pictured it. Under the dim glow of the emergency lights, green and flickering from the unreliable power supply of the ship, Francis undressed him and set out to memorize the shape of his body. He kissed James with such aching tenderness and focus that James found himself overwhelmed by it, shaking before Francis even put a gentle, probing finger inside of him. By the time they were joined, James with his legs firmly hooked around Francis’s hips, James was crying, and Francis kissed the tears away with a small smile and muttered – _“I can’t be that awful, can I?”_ – which earned him a punch to the side and a weak laugh from James. He stopped laughing when Francis started moving his hips, all out of words from watching Francis make love to him. He had seen Francis at his lowest and his highest, and now he got to see him simply _be_. It was ecstasy, drawn out like a perfect note.

They finished gasping in each other’s arms, and James still wished himself impossibly closer to Francis.

There was the moment when James collapsed while on an EVA with Le Vesconte, his body finally getting the better of him, where Francis was out of the ship and by his side before Dundy was properly done calling for assistance. Back in James’s quarters, after Goodsir reluctantly discharged him from sickbay with a _“There’s nothing I can do for you, Commander; I’m sorry,”_ Francis sat by James’s bedside for a long while and said nothing. James had given up on trying to hide the pain from Francis, and Francis still chastised him for hiding it for so long – _“We could have done something, James!”_ – and James responded simply, _“What?”._

That was the moment when James finally spelled it all out for Francis – _“Please let me forget; there’s nothing you can do about it and I don’t want this illness to be all we think about until I die”_ – and Francis looked ready to cry but didn’t, out of respect for James or to spite fate, James didn’t know.

They laid next to each other that night, and James’s bones hurt but he didn’t say anything, because sending Francis away would have hurt more. Neither of them slept. They traded kisses as reassurances that the other was still there, until their need overtook them. James hadn’t thought he still had it in him, but under Francis’s hands he came alive once more. He watched Francis open himself up, his face determined as if he was marching into battle, and then he didn’t see anything for a while when Francis sank down on James’s cock. They would always find their way back to each other, James wanted to promise, but he knew better. He let himself believe it was enough to have Francis now, to feel him tight around his cock and see him come undone, and that he didn’t need a future when he had this now, but James was never very good at stopping himself from needing things.

It seemed life would take care of that for him very shortly.

* * *

There was one last moment, before the end. This one was less coherent, full disjointed colours, and lights, and familiar voices that James could no longer place. Where was he? Was he still on _Erebus_?

“James, please, it’s alright.”

This voice was always close to his ear. The other voices were further away, and James could hear them less well. Their words became a jumble that was unintelligible but nevertheless soothing to him.

“I’m fine,” he murmured. He tried to sit up, but something cracked, and he fell back on the – bed? – with a groan. The pain was so all-encompassing now that it became inconsequential: it was in his legs, in his spine, in his hip and in his shoulders, in his chest and in his neck. He had always thought of himself as a fragile construct, a man made more out of stories than flesh, and the eventual breakdown was exactly as painful as he’d imagined. Layer by layer, he was revealed. Soon, there would be nothing left.

“I thought we were past all this posturing,” the voice by his ear muttered, and recognition hit James in a hot wave.

“Francis,” he croaked.

“Yes, I’m here,” Francis whispered, and now James could place the hand with the soothing cloth on his forehead as belonging to Francis. Francis, who still had thirty other men and women to keep alive.

“You… shouldn’t be here… the crew…”

Speaking was agony. It felt like somebody had fused all the joints in his jaw together and he was working to unmake that job with every word he forced out. His teeth, by contrast, felt distressingly loose in their sockets.

“They are alright. Stop worrying, James.”

James forced his eyes open so that he could look at Francis’s face looming over him – it filled his whole field of vision, familiar and full of concern, tears in his eyes that hadn’t yet spilled. James didn’t want to be the source of all this misery. He wanted to absolve Francis.

“You should let me go.” The words were barely more than a whisper. “Francis, please–”

Francis lifted his eyes to signal someone outside of James’s field of vision. They were not alone, then.

“I can’t do that now, can I? Who’s going to keep me from my work? Who’s going to tell stories after our shift?” He carefully wiped down James’s face as he spoke, the movements gentle and precise. The water felt pleasantly cool on James’s face. “Who’s going to keep me company, James?”

James closed his eyes again. He felt close to tears one moment and the next he was crying, at his impotence and the brittleness of his bones, at the mission that had brought them here and the hand of fate that had decided to wrest success from them at the last minute. They had been so close.

“It hurts, Francis,” he said, with a weariness so deep he could barely stand to let any of it show for fear of being consumed by it. He knew what lay on the other end of giving into this kind of exhaustion.

“I know.”

James could picture the furrow of Francis’s brow as he watched James suffer and could do nothing about it. Francis had never done well in the face of circumstances he couldn’t change.

“Captain.” The second voice was closer now. James knew he should recognise it, but placing it was beyond him. He only wished he still hand the strength to reach for Francis. “This will help with the pain.”

“Thank you, Mister Bridgens.”

Something was poured into James’s mouth, liquid and bitter, and he coughed around it. Francis’s hand was in his hair, the touch feather-light. James could feel his conscious mind ebb away like the water at low tide, drawing back into a place where the pain couldn’t reach him, when a third voice entered the room. James saw the man that belonged to the voice in his mind’s eye, the fierce eyes and grin and good nature, even though he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes. 

“Francis. I think you should see this.”

* * *

**January 2050**

James rounded the corner of the hallway that led into the dome, leaning more heavily on his cane today than some other days. Even in the lower gravity of Mars, his joints did not forgive him the long months without adequate nutrition.

The view that revealed itself to him would never fail to take his breath away. The background, visible through the glass dome, was still the monochrome ochre of Mars, even though the colour was no longer as hard on James’s eyes as it had once been. He had grown accustomed to it. More prominent, however, than the wastes of Mars, was the lush thicket of life that spread before him, in vibrant greens dotted with the colour of flowers and fruit.

They had pulled up the tomatoes towards the ceiling, to prevent rot and increase the yield. James caught the smell of them, the leaves fragrant as he brushed past them. A bee hovered by his ear for a second, then found him not worthy of its attention and moved on. Behind the tall vine plants, James could see the fields. The persistent smell of fertilizer lingered underneath it all.

He found Francis by the potato plot.

Francis had divested himself of the top half of his suit and tied the sleeves around his hips. It _was_ warm in the greenhouse, especially if one had been working in the fields all morning. Still, James shook his head as he neared, feigning shock.

“Such indecency! And from a Captain, too.”

Francis righted himself, and James could tell it hurt his back doing so. The grin on his face however was still broad, unburdened as it hadn’t been for a long while.

“Not a Captain anymore, James,” he reminded him.

“A shame. I only love men in uniform,” James quipped. He settled on a box of soil by the side of the path. Francis watched him with concern when he thought James wasn’t looking. James, of course, knew this, but let him pretend.

“I’ll have to acquire one immediately, then,” Francis replied and carefully lowered himself on the box next to James. Their legs touched. 

“Five years since our rescue,” James said, apropos of nothing and everything. There was a question in his heart to go with this statement, but he would keep that to himself for now.

“Is it the anniversary again?” Francis asked. James glared at him. “Come on. You can’t tell me you forgot.”

Francis’s expression was sheepish. James gaped, and Francis blushed and relented, “I didn’t forget.”

He turned away, cast his gaze down to his muddy boots and dirt-streaked suit.

“It was just a little while longer for you.” When James frowned, he added, “Before we knew you would make it.”

“Oh,” James said quietly. Francis didn’t talk much about the weeks James had missed, feverish and delirious and then dying. Everything James knew about those weeks he knew from Bridgens, who had tended to him in the short hours Francis allowed himself for sleep. Jopson and Blanky wouldn’t betray Francis’s trust, and seemed to have taken a vow of silence on those weeks. James understood why. Losing half of the remaining expedition command had been hard, but it had been harder because Francis had almost collapsed without James. If only James had had the good sense to stay away from Francis, the blow of nearly losing James wouldn’t have struck so hard – but no, James still couldn’t bring himself to regret kissing Francis, not in the rover, nor any time after that.

They sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts. James heard a bird from further away in the dome, and for a moment he could almost believe they were back.

Back on earth.

He thought of his question again, and the ache in his bones.

“There’s a celebration in the mess,” James said, “The crew has been asking for you.”

They were no longer a crew, not in name at least, but citizens again – citizens of ESA Mars Colony 1, EU membership pending. But there was still a sense of camaraderie among the crew, even with the new residents slowly filling up the hallways of the base. They had built this place, but not for themselves – they had built it for those who could live here and not remember the faces of those who died bringing a little piece of Earth to Mars.

“They can do without me,” Francis said, pulling up his suit and zipping it up again. James knew this game well – Francis would refuse, and James would plead with him, and then they would go anyway, and James would entertain Francis by whispering in his ear about who was going soft around the middle now that they were no longer on active duty. As though James himself could be exempted from that list, Francis would say, and he would smile, and kiss James. Eventually, they’d leave, because Francis would make promises about all the things he’d do to James back in their quarters that eclipsed James’s desire to socialise.

As they neared the mess, James could hear the sound of voices floating through the corridor. The light from the mess spilled brightly into the hallway, illuminating the monochrome grey of the corridors. They should paint them, James thought.

The crew was singing, he realised as they neared the mess, celebrating five years of rescue with the same exuberance that had followed the actual deed. Thomas Blanky was leading them, not because he had the best voice but because he had the loudest. James could see him sitting on a table, his remaining leg swinging off the edge, the one he hadn’t lost to the airlock door when it closed a little bit faster than he could run, and a broad grin plastered to his face as he conducted them.

_“I’m marching inland from the shore;  
over my shoulder I’m carrying an oar–”_

James exchanged a glance with Francis as they neared the door, Francis no doubt already preparing his refutation of celebrations and socialisation. James slowed his step a little. He felt a reluctance well up in him, wishing suddenly for a couple of minutes more with Francis alone. Funny – he who had always enjoyed company, the opportunity to be seen, now desperate for a couple of minutes more with the man he used to despise. James knew he had reached the point where he could no longer delay asking.

“Would you go back?”

The question was fraught, but James tried not to think of it. It had been nothing but a pipe dream in the first year after their rescue, but one whose possibility manifested more and more clearly in the following years. There were ships between Mars and Earth now, and a retired Captain could even book passage on them without ruining himself financially. It was a possibility some of them might yet choose, in a couple of years, when the need for the companionship with those that had survived the impossible with them was eclipsed by the need to see family and friends again – but it was no longer a possibility for James. His illness had taken that from him.

If Francis wanted to go back to Earth, that was his right. James wouldn’t stop him just because he couldn’t go back. He would deny himself three times over before denying Francis his happiness. But by God did the thought of losing Francis scare him.

Francis mustered James critically. It was the look that had terrified James once upon a time, when James had first thought it held the power to see through all of his masks to the very core of him. It would still scare him, if James didn’t know that Francis had seen everything of him and hadn’t yet run. The miracle was that Francis Crozier kept choosing him over and over again.

Francis shook his head firmly. “No, James. I’m not going back. Not as a Captain, and certainly not as a private citizen.”

He slipped his hand into James’s and squeezed it lightly. It was a touch they had become practised at, and still it never failed to excite James. He smiled. Francis, who knew his moods even when James thought he hid them expertly, leaned forward to steal a kiss from James’s smiling lips, as though his smile was an exquisite thing he simply had to taste. James felt the tension in his shoulders bleed away when Francis wrapped his arms around him. He opened his eyes into the kiss and saw Francis was watching him as well, his eyes blue and open and unwilling to miss a second of James. Message received and understood.

In the mess, the crew was still singing, loudly and boisterously and perfectly happy.

_“–When someone asks me what_  
_is that funny thing you’ve got_  
_then I know I’ll never go to sea no more.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Who said I can't write happy endings?
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [veganthranduil](https://veganthranduil.tumblr.com/) and ask me about fun Mars facts I learned from the Wikipedia article. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, consider leaving me a comment.


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